


The Last Something That Meant Anything

by RavenAurelieChoiseau



Series: I've Got You: Javi and Steve [1]
Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Attraction, Boys Kissing, Canon Divergence, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Connie and Steve's relationship mentioned, Depression, Drinking, Eavesdropping, Edging, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feelings Realization, Horacio and Javi's relationship mentioned, Insomnia, Javi is a sweetheart, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Canon Relationship, Oral Sex, Rough Kissing, Rutting, Steve is a mess but gets better, Uncut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 03:11:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17593511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenAurelieChoiseau/pseuds/RavenAurelieChoiseau
Summary: Connie's left Steve for good. Carrillo is dead.Steve has one request for Javi. Just one.





	The Last Something That Meant Anything

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this one broke my heart just a little. I think they have wonderful chemistry. I hope you enjoy it.  
> I took some liberties with the timeline.  
> Since I posted this at 2 am I just did another edit. :)

  
Everyone’s probably dreaming by now, but he’s sleepless again. The only _gringo_ in the building with a heavy heart.  
The couch cushion sits funny under his spine, digging into his side. Steve shifts his weight uncomfortably. Dammit, he can’t get settled.   
  
The smoke from his last cigarette still spools in the air. A finger of booze vesseled in his shaky hand hovers before his lips.  
Maybe this last tumbler’s too much, he thinks. Maybe he should try to sleep.  
  
“Fuck it,” he mumbles, downing the contents in one fiery gulp.  
Residual sugar from the rhum ridges the inside of the glass, little transparent peaks dragged down by gravity a moment later.  
The sweetness sticks to his mustache. He wipes it with the pads of his fingers, letting his tawny-haired head fall to the side.  
  
Shifting shadows catch his attention and he glances over to the bedroom. They’re stalking corners where the lamplight can’t reach.    
_Great, now I’m seeing ghosts_.  
  
Maybe it’s Connie. Maybe she’s come back and… The thought doesn’t even have time to fully materialize in his mind before Steve dismisses it.  
It’s not her. It will never be her. She made that clear the day she took off.  
  
The covers are still pulled back on the bed. He could just get up and…  
No.  
He can’t sleep there. Not alone. Not when the silhouette of her body is still wrinkled into the sheets.  
  
The couch has been his home since she left even though he hasn’t been resting much. The loneliness, the fucking anger _. Jesus!_  
Memorizing every paint chip on the ceiling has turned out to be a more successful task than anything he’s done recently.  
  
“You made your choice,” her voice taunts him. The bitterness is fresh and thick.  
“Being with you isn’t the same as being _in love with you_. It’s just not enough anymore, Steve. We don’t belong here.”  
He lies to himself. Says he’s okay.  
No, there isn’t an iron band slowly tightening around his throat as he races to the airport.    
  
If he could only catch a breath.  
A break.  
Or Escobar.  
  
Blue eyes blink away a couple tears, face twisted into mute wretchedness.    
From behind closed lids swirls a kaleidoscope of colored confetti.  
  
-  
  
A dog barks outside, breaking the silence. Steve’s still awake.  
He hears Javier’s door slam downstairs. _Who knows what Javi is up to._  
His partner’s probably returned shit-faced or about to fuck one of his favorite whores.  
Sometimes it’s both.  
  
At the thought of sex, Steve lets out a curiously long sigh.  
It’s been a while. Connie left how long ago?  
He doesn’t even remember when he was last caressed. When his skin touched another’s that wasn’t through violence.  
Was it Friday he last jerked off?! Jesus, that’s more than a week.  
His dick twitching confirms it _._  
  
It’s a feeble attempt at an erection, but Steve’s tempted to reach down and deal with it all the same.  When he palms what’s beginning to tent his shorts, he goes soft.  
_I’m not even attracted to myself,_ he lets out a self-deprecating chuckle.  
_Not worth the effort. I’m too wasted._  
  
Steve’s shoulders slump and he yawns. The hand that was supposed to give him release ends up at his mouth, tipping what’s left of the alcohol onto his tongue.  
_Shit, I really need to get some sleep._  
  
All the jumbled concerns are as weary as he is.  
Or is it the other way around? Have they finally tired of _him?_  
  
There’s rarely been a middle ground since Connie. He’s either completely obsessing over Escobar or he’s so drunk on tequila and misery he blacks out.   
  
Jesus he’s a fucking mess.  
At least he’s got Peña. Javi is the only one he can trust now.  
  
_  
  
Muffled, but still audible, a woman’s moans travel the walls. Javier’s voice is hiccuped in between the sound of a hammering headboard.  
Fuck. Steve doesn't want to eavesdrop but you can’t _not_ hear it.  
Not in the dead of night like this.  
  
And now he’s hard. His cock throbs in his tight grip.  
_Goddamnit I can’t. I can’t jerk off to my partner fucking…_  
  
And yet it’s been so long. Whoever this chick is, fuck him but she moans like Connie used to. Even the low vibration of Peña’s voice... maybe grunting into the sensitive skin of the back of her neck… Jesus. Steve can only imagine how hard he’s slamming into her.  
_What is this man, walking sex_?!  
  
Steve’s three strokes away from coming. When he breaks, with a bite to his lower lip and an expletive painted on his tongue, he fountains all over his tight stomach.  
“Oh fuck fuck fuck…!”  
_Goddamn you, Javi._  
What sent him over the edge? He imagines himself sandwiched between them, his sex inside the girl and Peña sucking on his tongue.  
  
-  
  
Steve huffs, gathering his cum.  
He rubs into swollen eyes with the heel of his clean hand.  
  
What was Peña doing in his fantasy?! Why did hearing Javi scream through his orgasm make him…   
He's starting to wonder if Peña is sweet. Is his spunk thick? What if Steve...   
  
Shaking his head, he tries to clear his brain of the static.  
  
Questions, fears, desires…all kept at bay until something unpredictable like this happens. Then the floodgate opens and once again he’s left to manage his crumbling sanity.  
_What am I, gay now?_  
Shit. Either way, this probably won’t end well. The movie may be different but the ending is always the same. He’s sprawled on cold ceramic with a contorted view of a toilet bowl.  
He may or may not be drunk.  
He may or may not love someone he can’t have.  
And when things take a serious fucking turn for the worse, he may or may not be bleeding out.  
Magic effin' perspective on what might be the last chapter of his life.     
  
Speaking of toilets, Steve realizes he has to piss. And wash the jizz from his fingers. But before he does... he looks around the room as if someone is watching. A blush rises in his cheeks.  
Steve's only ever tasted traces of himself on Connie, after she...   
The tip of his tongue dabs at the white secretion on his thumb.  
Salty. A hint of sweetness to it, though.   _Is this what Javi's tastes like?_  
  
Fuckin' a, Murphy, he thinks.   
  
Steve rambles into the bathroom, not bothering to turn on the light.  
When he’s done, stuffing his dripping dick back into his underwear, he stumbles back to the sofa. As he falls face down into the pillows, he catches his shin on the low coffee table.  
“Fuck!”  
That’ll smart tomorrow. Right now the anaesthetic pumping through his veins helps numb at least _this_ sting.  
As for the rest, he’s just not going to think about it.  
  
-

Steve Murphy battles lesser demons as he and Javier Peña are tucked away in a corner booth at the neighbourhood dive bar. It’s dirty and dark and a 2-minute walk from their place. Just the ticket to unwind after another day of NOT catching Pablo Escobar.  
  
The chairs are hard and pointy, and Javier’s tailbone presses in. He’s been wriggling in it for the past twenty minutes.  
“ _Puta_ , this hurts! Why do we keep coming here?!”  
“Because the drinks are watered down, and the music sucks?” Steve giggles. The heat mounts in his cheeks whenever Javier fixates him.

Javi’s ears perk up to what’s being played on the shitty radio at the bar.  _“Soy el fuego que arde tu piel, Soy el agua que mata tu sed …”_  
 “Yeah. Definitely the shitty music. I hate this song _._ ”  
Peña’s coffee eyes twinkle with humor and there’s a mischievous curl to his lip.   
  
Steve leans in, discovery widening in his gaze.  
Even through the haze of misery and alcohol fumes it’s not lost on him.  Javier has beautiful eyes. Beautiful fucking eyes the color of chocolate rivers.   
They’re the kind that demand attention. Sometimes softened by pain, sometimes lazily seductive.   
  
Murphy isn’t sure which look he’s getting now so he screws up his face to see better.   
Javi’s forehead wrinkles and he throws Steve a look that makes the breath leave his body.   
_Oh fuck._ _Jesus I’m screwed._

“Amigo, uno más,” Steve barks at the bartender in slurred Spanish. Normally sharp and assessing, Steve’s gaze is one of a milk-fed calf. It’s like he’s on a mission tonight.  
Get drunk, get laid, get… killed.  
_Feel SOMETHING._  
He promised himself he wouldn’t think about Javier. Not like that. But all the sounds from last night, they’re just echoing in his head. The woman whimpering “Sí, mi amor _!”_ over Peña’s growling laments won’t give him peace.  
  
Javier’s studying him from across the table. He’s not stupid. Peña recognizes the signs. Steve’s been tripped up all night.  
“That’s it. You’r _e jincho_ , gringo. I’m cutting you off. We’ve still got work tomorrow and you look like shit.”  
Peña’s slim brows arch. He may be tipsy, but Steve’s half a step shy of drunk.  
“I’m also calling time of death on that napkin.”  
With a lift of his angular chin Javier indicates what’s left of a cocktail napkin, torn to shreds.  
  
“I’m fine,” Steve disperses the smoke from his cigarette with a wave.   
“Bullshit.” Javier rubs his butt into the ashtray. “Only because I don’t like to waste cheap booze, finish that drink and then we’re leaving.”  
Steve nods solemnly.  
From beneath heavily lidded eyes he devours Peña’s beauty.  
  
Thank God he has Javi. He probably would have ended up dead if it weren’t for him.   
Not that he hasn’t tried to drink himself there these past weeks. Javi’s just great at calling him on his bullshit. Out of mutual respect, it’s something they do for each other. Which is why neither has put a fucking barrel down his throat yet.  
Javier in his own right was faring no better a while ago. He’s just learned to compartmentalize the anguish better.  
After Colonel Carrillo was killed, and the last shovel of dirt scattered onto the grave, Javi retreated into darkness. He was where Steve is now, an all too familiar hell.    
Steve knew about the affair. Kept it to himself. Who Javi fucked wasn’t anyone’s business but Javi’s.  
When he lost Horacio, shit it got to be so bad Steve seriously thought they had buried Peña in there with him.   
  
So it’s fine if Javi helps. Steve did it for him. He’d do it a thousand times over for Peña.  
Jesus what a pair they make.  
  
  
_

  
As soon as Steve stands up, all the alcohol drains into his legs. He’s more alert than he should be for all the stumbling he’s doing.  
“Come on, Murphy, almost there,” Javier encourages him, adjusting his stride to match his partner’s.  
“You’re lucky you’re thin,” he pants.  
  
Javier uses Steve to anchor himself. He walks most of the way home with a tight arm around Steve’s waist and one straining under his armpit.  
Murphy’s mumbling something about shadows and ghosts. Javier’s not paying attention.  
  
When they get to the foyer of the building, Peña makes for the stairs, but Steve grabs onto him, azure eyes saucered.  
“No, Javi. _Please_. I don’t want to go back there tonight.”  
Javier halts, propping him against the wall.  
“What’s wrong?”  
The breeze has gently fluffed Murphy’s dirty blond hair. He thrusts his fingers through it, blinking back salty tears. He makes an involuntary appraisal of Peña’s features.  
_Jesus Javi don’t you fucking get_ it _?!_  
Steve’s voice cracks. “I just can’t Javi. _I can’t_. Even the dust has her name on it.”  
  
Peña sweeps his gaze. Jesus he’s never seen him like this.  
“Okay,” he nods. “Okay Murphy. You can stay at mine tonight.”  
  
He gets Steve through the door and walks him to the sofa before going back to shut and bolt it.  
In the meantime, Steve’s folded onto himself. It’s almost like he’s being wrung out from the inside.  
  
Peña peers in, worry lines shadowing his face. He fills a glass at the sink and carries it over.  
“Water?”  
Steve nods, sipping from it slowly.  
Javier sits down beside him and puts a warm hand on his knee.  
  
“Steve, what’s going on? Talk to me.”  
Murphy stops abruptly, looking at his feet and then letting his gaze drift up to Javier’s face. The light catches the raisin brown of his eyes perfectly. There's a crinkle around the edges.  
Steve licks his dry lips. The water did nothing for him.   
  
“I’m so alone, Javi. So _fucking_ alone.” The strain to the affirmation hangs heavy in the air.   
Peña exhales. He knows the feeling all too well. A blur of meaningless faces have failed in making him feel any less forlorn. Only with Horacio… and wasn't that a clusterfuck.   
A pang of longing makes him grimace.   
  
“It’ll work itself out, Steve,” he lies. “One way or another you’re gonna get out of here. Someone will kill Escobar and we’ll go back to America. You’ll get Connie back.”  
Steve covers his face in his hands and sobs.  
“She doesn’t love me anymore. Nobody loves me.”  
  
Peña reaches over and drapes on his shoulders, pulling him close. He draws Steve's head under his chin.  
_Jesus, Murphy. I had no idea it was this bad._  
“Hey, listen. You don’t wanna stay up there, you come sleep here when you need to, okay? Anything it takes.”  
“Really?” Steve asks in a scratchy voice. “Anything?”  
  
Murphy angles his head, doll eyes watery. He puts a hand over Javi’s heart. Peña’s breath hitches.  
“What are you doing, Steve?” he whispers. Javier’s confused, but he doesn’t shy away. Something tightens in his underwear that shouldn't. Not because he doesn't fuck men. It's just... he never thought about fucking Murphy. Until now.   
  
Steve's mustache quivers.   
  
“Love me, Javi. _Please_ ,” he begs. “Love me _just_ _for today_.”  
  
The last words are smothered on Javier’s lips. Peña tenses, a feeble protest more for Steve’s sake than his own. He pulls at him, seeking consent from a man who'd never say no.  
The calm is shattered with the hunger of Murphy’s deepening kiss.  
" _Please_..."  
It's not clear if Steve saying it sounds more desperate than Peña thinking it.  
  
They fall back, Peña’s mouth greedily seizing Steve’s. Except for the strange feel of whiskers against his face, Murphy soon forgets he’s kissing a man. It’s overpowering, almost savage.  
Their tongues entwine inside their steamy cavities.  
Peña cards into Steve's soft hair, the other arm coiling around his body.   
  
They're so close their souls could wrangle.  
  
“Javi,” Steve pauses, short of breath. His dick is seeping.  
A courageous hand sneaks down to Peña’s zipper. “Javi please… make me feel wanted… ”  
  
_Jesus Christ, Murphy._  
Peña grunts at the graze. His heart shatters just a little.  _Anything you want, baby. Anything._  
  
“Are you sure?” he asks, hot tongue moving down Steve’s neck before he even replies.  
Murphy isn’t, but the shudder prickling his skin is convincing enough.  
His buckle comes undone.  
“I'm sure.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Fuck yeah.” Murphy doesn’t know what’s come over him, but he’s never been this turned on.  
  
Nimble fingers undo garments and hands press into strong back muscles as they remove their shirts.  
Javier nudges a knee between his partner’s bare thighs, brushing Murphy’s balls.  
  
“Jesus Javi…” Steve exclaims. His thick member gently angles up, a deep mauve tip barely visible around his foreskin.  
“I can say the same,” Javier breathes, taking in the sight of Steve’s paler, smooth sex glistening below him.  
His gaze darts from his groin to Steve’s slick mouth.  
  
“Steve, can I?” is the unspoken request.  
Murphy sits up, reclaiming his heat. “I’m all yours, Javi” he offers into his open kiss. He gently guides Peña down by his wavy, brown hair.  
Well fuck me, Javier thinks.  
  
Whatever Murphy imagined is nothing compared to what it’s really like. To writhe in ecstasy with Javier Peña is heavenly, if the fires of hell burned your skin at the same time.  
  
Steve gets to hear first hand the vibrating gasps Javi emits when Steve’s biting into his shoulder, running his rough hands all over his silky skin as they rut desperately.  
The low hum of Peña’s moans against his cock is unbelievable, surpassed only by the gulps as his liquid warmth spills down Javi’s throat.    
  
Murphy is more timid. Takes his time.  
Peña doesn’t complain when Steve spends a half hour on his crotch, licking and sucking like it’s his job. Teasing him to the edge only to pull back.  
He sure doesn’t mind when, against anything he’d thought Steve would ever do, Javi finds himself impaled by three of his partner’s fingers.  
Javi all but forgets himself when he arches his back and stiffens, thrusting one final time into Steve’s throat, pumping him full of his seed.  
  
They’re a perspiring, sticky mess when it’s all over. The flush is just fading on Steve's neck and chest when Peña crawls up his taut frame.  
Javi nestles into the crook of Murphy's muscled arm.   
  
Everything’s changed, and yet nothing has.  
A quiet calm has stilled Steve.  
He’s grinning to himself, like he’s been fucking reborn or something. He draws an invisible circle on the top of Peña's shoulder.   
It makes Javier smile, to see Steve finally looking so _alive_.  
  
Peña stands, thirsty. He grabs for the glass of water at the end of the table.   
  
Murphy sits up, reaches for his jeans, hair a tousled nest on his head.  
“Where’re you going?” Peña asks, a dark red bite mark rising to the surface by his clavicle. He’s naked, two steps from the threshold to his room.  
  
“I… I thought you’d want me to go home,” Steve stammers.  
Javier shakes his head and laughs. “Get your cute ass in my bed, Murphy, before I kick it all the way there.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a Mayday Parade song, because emo.  
> The title song from the show is in here, too.  
> A tumblr phrase and a dream prompted this story.


End file.
